Chapter 8

"I knew we shouldn't have left the flat," John said as he practically dragged Sherlock out of the morgue of St Bart's. His friend's condition was worse than he had thought and now he was embarrassing himself in front of everyone, even more than usual. At first it seemed Sherlock's behavior was normal. He had noticed details about Molly and he gave a mutilated corpse a thorough examination, but then when Lestrade and his officers arrived it changed. He was saying things he would never say and the Sherlock he knew would never use such a gesture, even in front of Anderson.

"A friend asked for a favor," Sherlock answered in a calm tone. "Can't just let her down like that."

"You should have just left Lestrade take care of it."

"I doubt he knew what to look for."

"That doesn't matter right now."

"Doesn't matter?" Sherlock asked and placed his hands on John's shoulder. "This might not be the only one. He could have been the first one and there could be others but the one thing that I know is that this thing is going to keep on killing and eating hearts until we gank it."

John stared into the eyes of his friend, looking for a sign on why he was acting and talking like that. Mycroft was right. This wasn't Sherlock, at least not the Sherlock that he knew. What had that explosion done to him?

"John, I'm sorry. I want to tell you everything," Sherlock sighed. "But the truth is you wouldn't believe me."

"I'm your friend. If you can't trust your friend then…" He stared at the ground and walked past him. He didn't know what to say. The fact that Sherlock didn't trust him felt like a punch to the gut at first but that was followed by the feeling of being slowly deflated. He had hoped that deep down somewhere Sherlock would trust him, at least the real Sherlock that he knew

"Where are you going?"

"Home." John refused to turn around and kept walking.

"How?" Sherlock caught up with him and stood in front of him.

"What do you mean how?" John asked. "I'm going to take the tube."

"I promise I will tell you. When we are home after we had some tea, or maybe something stronger. You should be sitting down." His voice was sincere as were his eyes and his smile. "Please don't walk away from me." He held out his hand.

"Let's get you home," John said and accepted it.

The ride on the tube was mostly quiet Most of the other passengers kept to themselves and a few glanced over towards them and then looked away. A few recognized them and either whispered to their companions and pointed back at them or pulled out their mobiles. John appreciated the fact that no one tried to take their pictures. He was not in the proper mood for that nor did he want to be arrested for knocking out other people's mobiles and stomping on them.

John kept looking at Sherlock to see if there was a hint of what was wrong with him. He had thought it might have been just a bit of amnesia at first, but Sherlock was acting like someone else. He was using slang and colloquialisms that were used in America. Now that he thought of Sherlock's accent was sounding more and more American. He only slipped back to his true self when he was making his observations and deductions. John felt like he should try and retreat into a mind palace of his very own and try to recall every little bit of medical knowledge that he had read or come across, no matter how obscure, until he found out what was wrong with his friend.

"On the subway can't talk now," Sherlock said into his mobile. "Almost at the apartment."

"Who was that?" John asked. He hadn't even noticed that Sherlock's ringtone had gone off. He did take note that he once again used words that were more commonly used in America.

"I really can't say until I explain everything," Sherlock said as he stared at his phone.

"Can you answer a few questions?"

"It depends on the questions."

"Do you remember Harold my brother?"

"Your brother?" Sherlock asked and bit his lower lip as he tried to remember.

"He had that gambling problem and it got worse after Carla left him."

"Is he inviting us to dinner and you don't want to go?"

"No," John choked out as he leaned against the back seat. It was as bad as he had thought. His friend had lost his memories and was trying to act like he knew John. A part of John did feel a little pleased with the idea that Sherlock was pretending to remember. It meant he still wanted to be his friend. There was still something deep inside of him that was still the true Sherlock Holmes.

John kept staring at his friend. He hoped that Sherlock would reveal what is wrong with him. Sherlock was still staring around him trying to take in everything. It was almost as if he were riding around in the tube for the first time. It was going to take a lot of time and work to restore his friend's memory. He no idea about the Americanisms or where they came from.

Sherlock scowled when he received a text and typed a simple answer before he sent it back.

"Was that the same person?" John asked.

"Yes," Sherlock answered in an annoyed tone. "I told him I would speak with him later. It had only been a few minutes."

"Well here is our stop," John said and stood up.

Thankfully Mrs. Hudson wasn't home when they returned. It would break her heart if Sherlock had forgotten everything about her as well. She didn't notice his strange behavior from before but she was more worried about him being thrown out of a room in an explosion and she just wanted him to rest and recuperate.

"I have a call to make," Sherlock said and held up his phone. "Well talk when I'm done." He walked through the kitchen and straight to his bedroom.

"I'll put on a kettle," John said and went into the kitchen. They were going to need a full kettle and bottle of whiskey. His own phone rang when he was looking for the bags of tea. The number came from Molly.

"Hello John," Molly greeted. She sounded anxious.

"This is not the best time," John said. He was able to hold the phone against his head while he thumbed through the bags of tea. "Sorry if that sounds rude. I think something is wrong with Sherlock."

"This is somewhat important," Molly said. "And it does relate to Sherlock in a way."

"Tell me you noticed he was acting strange."

"He was acting a little bit odd, at least odd for him."

"Only a little? Molly he was checking out your bot—never mind that. You remember what he had done to Anderson."

"I-I didn't really notice either," She paused to clear her throat. "I am calling about Sherlock's friend from the FBI."

"Agent Hagar?" John asked. He had forgotten about the strange man. He didn't even remember where he had gone. It just seemed like had disappeared. Now that he thought about it that man was also odd with his backwards tie, upside down badge and answering Lestrade's questions in that manner. Sherlock had said he was joking but the tone of that man was devoid of any emotion.

"He's not FBI," Molly said. "I don't know how to explain this."

"Take a deep breath," John said. Why was he not surprised Agent Hagar was not a federal agent and why would Sherlock lie about him?

"There was this series of books published in America. They weren't real popular but they had a cult following with message boards and even a convention. Some of the stories are only available online. In one of them two of the characters were pretending to be federal agents and one is an angel and he had his badge upside down."

"Like agent Hagar," John said.

"He looked just like the description of the book John, he looked like Castiel."

"That doesn't make any sense," John sad. Why would Sherlock befriend someone who was a fan of these books and play along. The whole situation was getting stranger and stranger and he had no idea how he would be able to make any sense of it.

"I excused myself from Lestrade and his men and went looking around on the Net and there was this site called Ghostfacers. They were also in one of the books, but this wasn't part of the story. There was a video where they encountered Castiel and it was the same man." She paused to take a breath. "It was the same man we saw not long ago. He had one of the books with them and these people were surprised to see it."

"It sounds like it's a popular fan site."

"Why would anyone put that much time and energy into making look that real?" Molly asked. "And for such a small fan following?"

"You are not implying these people are real?" John asked. First Sherlock and now Molly?

"I don't know what to make of all of it," Molly said. "I think I should take the rest of the day off, maybe look more into this."

"I would recommend that be for the best," John answered. He heard the kettle whistle and removed it from the stove. He turned to pour it into a tea pot.

"John Watson," the man that had been called Agent Hagar was standing in the kitchen

"Holy," John dropped both the phone and the pot. His mobile cracked and hot water jumped out and struck John in the foot and ankle. He cringed at the excruciating pain from the boiling hot water. "Son of—what the bloody hell are you doing here!" He limped towards the direction of the sink. "How the hell did you get in here?"

"I'm sorry," the fake agent said and waved his finger. The water returned to the pot and the phone was instantly repaired.

"H-h-how did you do that?" John asked as he pointed at the pot and mobile. He no longer cared about the pain.

"I'm an angel." The man kneeled down next to John and placed his hand on his ankle. The pain was instantly gone.

"An angel," John said and pulled up his trouser leg. There were no burn marks. "That is impossible."

"You do not believe in our existence?" The man asked and stared at him with an intense focus. "You used to pray in the morning before you saw your patients. You used to pray before every battle and continued after you were shot in the shoulder. Did you lose faith?"

"No. I believe in a higher power. I just don't believe it is possible that you are an angel."

"Even after what I have done?" He pointed at the tea kettle.

"I really don't know," John said as he stared at the man and then at his mobile and then his kettle. His eyes were not playing tricks on him and he had felt the hot water, but there were no burns and the pain had left when the strange man touched him. "Are you really an angel?"

"I am."

"Castiel is your name?" He might as well guess and used the same name that Molly had used.

"That is correct," Castiel said and tilted his head.

"I was just informed you were a character in a story."

"Several actually. The prophet was proficient in his writing."

"Prophet?" John asked. He had just encountered an angel and now this.

"Being a prophet he was attuned to the two men who would prevent the apocalypse from happening."

"That would explain it," John said as he picked up the pot and set it on the counter. His mobil rang again. "Molly?"

"John, what happened?"

"You were right the books were real and Castiel just appeared. Now is not a good time. I promise to call you back ." He hung up and turned to the angel. "Why did you come here?" He felt like he was being rude. This was an actual angel and he should be more respectful. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"I usually don't need to drink," Castiel said. "But I will like a cup."

"I'll get another." This was going to be an interesting blog post. Maybe he shouldn't write about the fact that he was having tea with an angel.

"As to answer your question on why I am here it is about your friend."

"You know what is wrong with Sherlock?"

"We were waiting for the right time."

"He said when he was done with his phone call." John gestured to Sherlock's room.

"That's not," he suddenly scowled. "Excuse me." He disappeared leaving nothing behind but the sound of feathers rustling.

"I was visited by an angel," John said in a thin voice and chuckled. "I have spoken with an angel." He should have felt more blessed.

"Get out!" The voice of the angel echoed from Sherlock's room.

"Sherlock?" John asked as he stared at the door. He wondered why the angel hadn't just walked in but Castiel's voice had taken on an urgent tone before he left. "Castiel?" He heard a strange voice from behind the door before he opened it. Only Sherlock and the angel were in the room.

"Was there another angel in there?" John asked.

"That was the opposite of an angel," Sherlock said. "Glad you didn't get to see that stain, Johnny boy."

"What?"

"He was a demon," Castiel said.

"Ah yes angels and demons." John said. "It is all perfect. First you act strange, Sherlock and then angels and demons are popping up the flat."

"Don't have to worry about demons," Sherlock said as he gave Castiel and pat on the shoulder. "But Cas here saved me from one of his lectures. "

"You two seem to know each other," John said

"Cas and I share a bond and have shared the bond said he pulled me out of hell," Sherlock said and walked through the kitchen. He waited for John and Castiel to follow him before sat down in his chair. "You might want to sit."

"Let me get the refreshments," John sad and went back to the kitchen. He poured three cups and set it on a tray along with three spoons and the sugar bowl. He brought it out on the coffee table before he returned to the kitchen for three shot glasses and a bottle of whiskey.

"That should do it," Sherlock said as he helped himself to one of the cups. He took a sip, pursed his lips and added a spoon of sugar to the tea. "Interesting."

"Is there something odd about the tea?" John asked as he sniffed his cup.

"No. I just never really liked it this much. I rarely drink it but now I like it. This tea tastes good." He stared at the angel. "It's because these are his taste buds?"

"That would be the most likely answer," Castiel said. He stared at his cup and spooned in some sugar before he took a taste. "This is good."

John felt a bit relieved that the angel enjoyed his tea. He didn't want the angel to be upset with him.

"Now for the truth," Sherlock said.

"Finally," John said.

"Well for starters I'm not Sherlock."

"You are not." John blinked

"Physically he is," Castiel said. "His soul and personality is different."

"You're friend and I had were hit by the same kind of mojo from the same kind of magic object and we switched bodies."

"That is not possible."

"You didn't believe it was possible for me to be an angel," Castiel reminded him.

"Right." John rubbed his head."Who is in there?"

"I'm Dean. Dean Winchester. I'm a hunter and I work with my brother in the states of course. We drive around looking for cases."

"Cases?" John asked. "You are not detectives?"

"Nope. Well we do solve them by figuring out what kind of monster we are fighting, or who the ghost is and gank them."

"You are someone who hunts monsters and ghosts?"

The other man nodded. "It's what we do. That is why I was anxious to get to the corpse. Heart missing means a few things and those things are something we hunted. Even though it didn't get the heart it was still the same monster."

"Really?" He still couldn't believe it.

"Monsters are real. All of those things you read about and were terrified of are real."

"They are real?" John asked. "And you said you switched bodies with Sherlock?"

"Not on purpose," Sher—no not Sherlock said.

"No of course not," John chuckled and grabbed the bottle of whiskey. Forget the shot glass he was going to need the whole bottle. He tilted back his head and chugged.

A/N: Posting this on the double birthday of Benedict and Jared